


This Might Hurt

by TeddyBearsandBroadswords



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: "Alternate Universe", 2-year-coma, Deciphering Reality from Dreaming, Derek Doesn't Exist, F/M, Forgetting, Gen, How Long Have I Been Asleep?, Hurt Derek, Imagination, Lost - Freeform, M/M, Mates, No One Knows The Hales, Non-Supernatural Beacon Hills, Non-Werewolf Everyone, Not-So-Alternate Universe, Not-Spell, Only Dreaming, Panic Attacks, Post Season 3, Stiles Wakes Up, Stilinski Family Feels, Tricked, Unexpected Bad-Guys, coma!stiles, missing-link, missing-pack, sleeping, sterek, this might hurt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:19:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddyBearsandBroadswords/pseuds/TeddyBearsandBroadswords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"For the last time, Stiles, there is no Derek! He's not real and he never has been, so wake up and stop dreaming. It's time you came to reality!" Then he slams the door. It's not true. It can't be true. I can't have dreamed it all up. I'm only Human. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Dream A Dream Such As This Should Be Impossible

beep...beep...beep...beep

 

What the hell is that?

 

beep...beep...beep...beep

 

And Jesus what is that smell? It’s so... _sterile._

 

beep...beep...beep...beep

 

What happened? Am I at the hospital? The hell? I manage a weak groan, but my throat hurts so badly I can feel my face contort in pain. I hear a slight shift beside me and turn my head minutely to the side, risking peaking my eyes open. It’s a bad idea. I groan again despite the pain in my throat and shut my eyes again. The room is brighter than it needs to be and it _hurts_. Damn.

 

“Stiles? Oh my god, son, are you awake?” It’s Dad’s voice. He sounds tired, as usual, and especially shocked. I make a small noise akin to a hum and slowly try to pry my eyes open again. It’s better now that I’m expecting the light. I blink my eyes a couple times and turn my head over to my father as he stares at me in awe. His eyes are watery and he blindly reaches for my hand without breaking eye contact with me. “I’m so happy you’re awake.” I can’t really respond because my throat is so dry, so I can’t ask how long I’ve been out, which really bothers me. But it’s Dad. So I just smile and lightly squeeze his hand back. “I’ll go get the doctor,” he says suddenly, kissing my forehead before rushing out of the room. Well alrighty then. That’s a tad unusual.

 

I ignore Dad’s weirdness for the time being and glance around the room from my position in the bed. Everything is so white and clean aside from the numerous cards and pots of flowers riddled with balloons and well-wishes. It’s almost sickeningly sweet. I still appreciate it, though, as much as I’ll deny it.

 

My thoughts are interrupted as a soft knock comes on the door. I glance over and see a tall, tan-skinned man wearing a labcoat standing in the doorway. Mrs. McCall is behind him with my father beside her. They all look far too happy. It’s weird.

 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Stilinski, how are you feeling today?” the doctor asks. I shrug and smile slightly.

 

“Thirsty,” I croak. He chuckles and nods to Mrs. McCall who walks away briskly, coming back only moments later with a cup full of water. I gratefully allow her to bring the cup to my lips because, for whatever reason, my arms feel like they’re made of lead. I drink the entire cup and sigh in relief as I clear my throat. “Where’s Derek?” I ask, still smiling. I figured the old sourwolf would be around here somewhere, he’s always lurking, especially when it comes to my wellbeing. The doctor frowns and turns to dad who frowns too. That’s is a very, very bad sign. Very bad. There must be something wrong with Derek. “What’s wrong? What happened to him? Is he alright?” Although I can’t remember the event that led to my hospitalization, I’m sure it was something that Derek flew into the middle of. Maybe he’s more injured than usual. I can feel my heart rate picking up at the look Dad gives me.

 

“Stiles,” oh that tone, this is very very bad. “Who is Derek?” he asks. Well...that’s not what I expected him to say. I frown and stare at Dad with a raised eyebrow.

 

“What...what are you talking about? You know Derek. I’ve been dating him for six months now, stop fooling around.”

 

“Stiles, you’re not dating anyone, and you most certainly haven’t started in the last six months,” dad says, looking at me as if I’ve actually gone completely crazy.

 

“What...what’re you--”

 

“Stiles, you’ve been in a coma for over two years now,” the doctor says gently. I furrow my eyebrows and shake my head, staring at the doctor pointedly.

 

“That’s...that’s not true, it can’t be true,” I say, glancing over to dad. He doesn't look at me. This can’t be true. It can’t.

 

“Stiles, do you remember what happened to you?” he asks instead of reassuring me. I shake my head ever-so-slightly. He frowns and runs a hand through his hair and sighs heavily.

 

“Dad wh-what is it?” I ask, even though I really don’t want to know the answer.

 

“Do you remember in January, that body that was torn in half?” he asks. I frown. When Peter killed Laura. I nod and look back up to Dad’s tired face. “Well, you heard my police scanner and you went out looking for the second half of the body on your own. I guess the killer hadn’t left the area when you found him and he...god, Stiles, he almost killed you and left you on the side of the road. You’ve been in a coma since then and we still haven’t found the bastard,” he grits out, fists tightening at his sides. He takes a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head softly. He looks back up at me. “It’s February 2013 now, son.” I’m shaking my head. That can’t be true. He can’t be telling the truth. There’s something _wrong._

 

“No, that...that’s not true. I went looking for the body with Scott,” I say, my voice shaking. “We-we found it and we met Derek the next day after Scott lost his inhaler. I...I’ve been dating Derek for six months...please, Dad,” I say, looking at Dad directly. The doctor interrupts, though, turning to Dad and whispering.

 

“It’s very common for comatose victims to dream while they’re unconscious and it isn’t unheard of for them to believe these dreams are reality.” They think I’ve been dreaming? This whole time? I couldn’t have imagined all of that. Could I? Dad nods anyway at the doctor and frowns.

 

“Will he ever be the same and recognize the dream from reality?”

 

“It varies, but most victims will be able to distinguish the dream from real life eventually.” I can’t believe this. They think that I dreamed everything that happened! It must be a witch’s curse or something that wiped their memories. I have to figure this out and soon. But my body still feels so _heavy_ , I can’t move. “We’ll start you in physical therapy tomorrow morning, alright, Stiles?” I only nod and watch as he leaves.

 

Mrs. McCall walks over to me and kisses my forehead, smoothing back my hair. It’s longer than I remember it being. This is really starting to freak me out.

 

“It’s good to see you awake, sweetie,” she tells me before leaving the room as well. Dad stands awkwardly in the doorway, regarding me in a seriously disconcerting way. He walks forward after seemingly agreeing to something in his head.

 

“Do you want me to call Scott down here? I’m sure he would be so happy to see you,” he says as he stands at the foot of my bed. Scott, of course! Maybe he still remembers. I hope the witch hasn’t gotten to him yet. I nod and smile pleasantly to Dad as he pats my leg and moves into the hallway.

 

I let my head fall back into my pillows and sigh. I just want Derek to come bursting in like the prima donna that he is and demand to know why I was, no doubt, being reckless _again_. I just want the entire conversation with the doctor and my Dad to go away.

 

A soft knock on the door frame grabs my attention as I glance up and see Scott there. He looks goofy and nerdy, like he had when we’d gone hunting for Laura Hale’s upper half. He looks like he hasn’t change at all. This isn’t right. Scott has tattoos now, he’s a werewolf and he has a sense of fashion. He cut his hair, he...he’s not... _this_.

 

“Hey, buddy,” he says kindly, walking forward and pulling a chair up next to my bed. I turn my head to look at him and can’t help the pit building in my stomach. There is something very wrong going on in Beacon Hills and I need to figure out what it is before something seriously bad happens.

 

“Quick, everything you know about Derek Hale and the Hale family, go!” I say suddenly, waiting for Scott to start rattling off information like he usually does when he knows the answer. Instead, Scott gives me a confused look and tilts his head to the side like a puppy.

 

“Derek Hale? Should I know who that is?” he asks uneasily, as if he’d missed something. What the hell? Has the spell already gotten to him? Shit! I swallow thickly and look away from him. THis is bad, this is very bad. Could it all have been my imagination? Is it...possible? To imagine loving someone? To create a world with excitement when there isn’t any in reality? Could the doctor...be right?

  
“No...no I guess it was...just a dream…” 


	2. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So here we learn a bit more about what Stiles remembers and doesn't remember from the years he's lost. We have a few surprises and Stiles teeters on the belief that everything is real and the overbearing concept that it was all simply a dream.

I’ve been awake for a month now and there are so many differences here. I don’t know what to believe anymore. I don’t want it to all be a dream. I couldn’t have imagined every single detail of a completely different world, could I? All the people. All the hardships we went through. I couldn’t have created Derek’s tragic life, could I? The darkness. the demons we’ve faced, both literal and metaphoric. I couldn’t just...dream it all up, right?

 

I don’t even know anymore! I sigh and let my head fall into my hands.

 

The doctors let me go home a week ago, and I’ve been going to regular physical therapy sessions and they say that I’m progressing remarkably well for someone who has been in a coma for as long as I have. That only sparks a small hope inside me that maybe it wasn’t a dream and this is still some giant trick.

 

A guy can dream, right? But, I guess that’s what I’ve been doing for the past two years. Maybe. I don’t know anymore.

 

I shake my head and sigh, looking up to the empty doorway. Dad took on an extra shift. I’m assuming it’s because he doesn’t want to face me. I don’t think he can stomach the idea that I might be literally insane. I hate putting him through this, but it’s not really something I can stop. Something weird is happening in Beacon Hills and I hope to _god_ that it’s werewolves.

 

I get to go to school tomorrow. It makes me wonder how different it will be. How much I’ve missed and how many people I’ll actually know when I get there.

 

I fall back on my bed and bounce slightly. My room is different than how I left it. It’s exactly the way it was two years ago, down to the phone number I dropped behind my bed when I was 14. This is insane. _I’m_ insane.

 

 _Wait_. Phone number! Maybe Derek’s phone is still connected!

 

I scramble across my bed to snag my cell phone off the bedside table. I fumble with it until I switch it on and swipe at the screen, tapping numbers as quickly as humanly possible. Luckily I memorized his number, just in case I needed to dial it in a dire situation. I know it so well, I can dial it with my hands tied behind my back--literally.

 

I press the phone to my ear and listen intently. He has to be there. Please let him answer. Please.

 

 _“Hey,”_ thank the lord, that voice. Something right with the world! _“You’ve reached D.J. Hext. I’m away on a business trip at the moment and won’t be back until April. Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I get home, thanks!”_ I’m silent, then. It’s...it’s not him. It’s just...some person I’ve never heard of.

 

The message beep startles me into reality again and I take a breath. I’m going to regret this later.

 

“Derek. It’s Stiles,” I begin. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I think I’m going crazy. The last thing I remember is you showing up at my door, sopping wet and telling me that I was in danger. Then I woke up and everything was wrong. God, I don’t even know if this is you and I’m seriously questioning my life at the moment. I’m sorry. This is stupid. I should go. Yeah.” Then I hang up. I let my phone slip out of my grip and my hands shake. I pull them into fists as I reach them up and into my hair. Everything is wrong. Am I wrong? Was I...dreaming? How can I...know for sure?

 

_I remember that it was raining. I was up late reading through something when someone knocked on the door. I didn't have time to say a greeting before Derek was plowing inside the house and pushing me somewhere._

_“Derek? What the hell are you--”_

_“St-Stiles! It’s not safe! You have to hide, he’ll kill you!” Derek had shouted. I stared at him in shock. What was he talking about again? Who?_

 

_“Derek, I don’t understand what you’re--”_

 

_“Stiles, go!” he said. He pushed me toward the door, body dripping with rain from outside. I couldn’t leave without knowing if he was safe. I refused._

 

_“No, Derek,” I said. I whirled around and glared at Derek, pushing my finger into his chest. “You should know by now that I can’t just leave without you. I can’t just abandon the pack, especially if something important is happening.” Derek looked so absolutely broken and terrified that I almost left without another word. Almost._

 

_“Stiles, please you...you have to...to go,” he said, sliding to his knees and grabbing me. He pressed his face to my abdomen and hugged me tightly. “I can’t lose you with everything else. Not you too.”_

 

_I was at a loss._

 

_“Derek, you know that I can leave the pack, I’m too…” Everything else I said is a blur, I can see the images in my head, see Derek shaking his head and transforming into his wolf-mode. I remember hearing a crash and being thrown about, but nothing else. I can’t remember why I was being so stubborn or who Derek was talking about or why he was out in the rain. Nothing. Just that small bit of information that makes me reconsider the idea of a dream. The idea that I only imagined the supernatural world I fell into to cope with the fact that I’d almost died and to hide those memories from myself so I wouldn’t have to relive them...Maybe…_

 

A knock on the doorframe makes me jump and look up. Scott is standing there looking concerned. He’s come to check on me. Probably because Dad asked him to.

 

“Stiles? Are you alright?” I nod, even though I don’t really think that I am. “What’s happening?”

 

“I-I...I don’t know, Scotty. I just...I don’t know anymore…”

 

^^^

 

Dad wakes me up in the morning and my entire body _hurts_. Everything aches and my chest feels heavy. My arms feel weak and brittle.

 

I don’t voice any of this as Dad shoots a worried look in my direction. I just smile falsely and shrug on a sweatshirt.

 

“Just a little achey from the physical therapy is all,” I tell him. He nods understandingly and pats my shoulder. I know that he’s more than worried about me even though he hides it remarkably well. I’ve just been trained to see it. Or at least...I think I was.

 

I get ready for school at a slow pace, dragging my feet and collecting miscellaneous papers and scattered items into my backpack. I tested into my actual grade level to the surprise of most everyone. How could I have dreamt school and learning things I didn’t even know? That should be proof enough but...somehow it just...isn’t.

 

I finally make it out to my jeep and drive to school.

 

I meet Scott at the front doors and sigh as I look up at the massive building. Scott pats my shoulder reassuringly and I just smile at him. It seems kind of heartbreaking that in my ‘dreams’ I can train myself to mask my emotions from my best friend so easily. Although, maybe my brain miscalculated how perceptive Scott is as a human.

 

We’re about to walk into the building when something catches my eye. Or...some _one_ rather. I pause and stare at her. Scott turns to look at me curiously.

 

“Go ahead without me, I’ll meet you inside,” I tell him. He stares at me and then her for a minute before he shrugs and walks inside.

 

It’s like seeing a ghost as I stumble forward toward her. “Erica!” I blurt out. She looks up suddenly and stares at me with wide eyes. She’s nothing like her old self. She’s back to the baggy clothing and defeated eyes from her days with epilepsy. Her days before werewolf powers eliminated that particular illness. Before she embraced herself. She’s regressed, just like Scott.

 

“S-Stiles?” she asks as I near her. I don’t respond as I grin and grab her in a tight hug without even thinking. She’s alive. I’ve missed her so much.

 

She pushes at my chest meekly. I let her go and smile at her. She may not understand, but that doesn’t matter. She’s alive!

 

“It’s so good to see you,” I tell her. She furrows her eyebrows and looks down.

 

“Uh...it...is?” she asks. I nod vigorously and take her shoulders. She yelps slightly as I shake her lightly.

 

“Of course!” I say enthusiastically. She doesn’t seem to believe me. I suppose we weren’t very close when I supposedly went into a coma. I’ll just have to fix those bridges as we come to them. “I want you to eat with Scott and I at lunch,” I tell her. She looks surprised and skeptical at this.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because we’re going to be friends,” I say simply as the first bell rings. “I have to go. I’ll see you at lunch, Erica!” I shout as I jog into the building and towards my first class with Scott. I sit beside him and pull out a notebook.

 

“Why were you talking to Erica Reyes?” Scott asks finally. I could tell he was bursting at the seams, trying not to pry. I also knew he wasn’t going to succeed.

 

“Because I want to be friends with her,” I say simply. Scott blanches.

 

“But...why? Does this have something to do with that dream you had in the coma?” he asks. Ouch. I ball my fists but don’t do anything I would most definitely regret.

 

“It doesn’t matter, Scott. She doesn’t have many allies around here and I think we could be two reliable ones at the least.” Scott frowns and looks down at his own notebook. He’s silent for a while and I just get ready for the, no doubt boring, class ahead.

 

“Why did you say allies? Instead of friends?” he asks quietly. I frown. Shit, I didn’t mean to do that. Just a force of habit.

 

“Thought we needed a more powerful synonym. Besides, school feels like a battlefield most of the time anyway, right? Why not make it more theatrical?”

 

Scott doesn’t respond again, glaring at his notes as he furiously scribbles them down. I jot down notes at a much more relaxed rate as I observe him. There’s still some remnant of the Scott I know in there, I just need to pull it to the surface. If that Scott even exists, that is.

 

We have lunch with Erica that day. She’s skeptical of us and I can understand why. She’s been alone for ages and now some coma-kid steps in a forces her to stop being alone. It’s probably a lot for her to process today, but by the end of the hour she’s joking and smiling with Scott and me.

 

I can see Scott visibly relax as well with Erica’s reserved but somewhat open demeanor. He’s being less cautious than before and eventually we all fall into a companionable silence as the cafeteria bustles around us.

 

The bell rings and I’m the first to rise from my seat. I put my tray away and wait for Erica and Scott to join me. The three of us make our way to our respective classes and Erica pulls me aside quickly.

 

“Thanks, Stiles. You know, for...for inviting me to eat with you and Scott. It was...it was nice,” she says. I smile and lay my hand on her shoulder.

 

“You are welcomed at our table any day, Erica Reyes. I’ll be expecting to see you there tomorrow, you know.” With this I peck her cheek and brush past her towards my classroom. I know that she’s blushing behind me, but I have bigger plans for her love life. Much better ones than I could provide myself, too.

 

^^^

 

Scott and Erica and I fall into a sort of pattern. We all eat together and we all hang out after school to do homework or just chill. After we part ways I call Derek’s number and leave a message, just so I can hear his voice. I know that it’s Derek, I just don’t know how. It has to be. Right?

 

This pattern goes on for two weeks before something interrupts it. That something being a bruised and beaten Isaac Lahey stumbling into my AP Chemistry class with none other than Mr. Harris. Unfortunately the part about him dying didn’t transfer over, immortal bastard.

 

I glance up from my beaker and stare at Isaac as he leans on the doorframe and cringes with each shuddering breath he takes. He looks worse for wear and I’m quick to assume that he’s the lab partner I’ve been missing for two weeks now.

 

“Mr. Lahey, are you sure you should be here?” Mr. Harris asks. Is that a hint of concern in his voice? Someone better call Hell and see if it’s freezing.

 

Isaac nods quickly and stumbles toward me. The left side of his face is badly bruised and his eye is almost swollen completely shut. His left arm has a poor excuse for a splint attached to it and he’s gently cradling the ribs on his left side with his right arm.

 

Three guesses what happened to him. I look back down at the experiment I was in the middle of and ball my fist. So Isaac’s dad is alive here too.

 

“Stiles...Stilinski?” Isaac asks. I look up quickly and nod to him. “I-I heard you were out of the coma, but I didn’t think you would be back so soon,” he says. I nod.

 

“Yeah, I had a quick recovery,” I say offhandedly. “Say, would you like to join Scott McCall, Erica Reyes, and me for lunch today?” I ask. Isaac looks slightly shell-shocked, as if this hasn’t ever happened to him before.

 

“Um, yeah. Sure, that sounds great,” he says. I nod and smile, explaining the experiment at hand to him as I finish it up.

  
I have to do something while I’m here. While I have all of these broken people around me with no supernatural cop-out available. If I can’t do anything to change what’s happened right now, then I have to help them. It’s only logical. It’s something I _have_ to do. I have to help them. No matter what.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you like the way the story is going and that you'll come back for more soon! :D I have lots of trick surprises up my sleeve so stay tuned!!! ^.^ Love you all!


	3. Unassuming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles body aches. Burns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really plot-heavy chapter this time around!!! :) enjoy!

The longer I stay here, the less clear my memories of the alternate reality become. It’s unsettling. I can’t remember the role I played within the pack anymore. I can’t remember the more recent conversations, events, people. It’s driving me crazy trying to remember.

 

When my dad takes another late-shift, I pull out the timeline I’ve been working on. I started working on it when the holes started surfacing. I have a few key points that I’ve caught before they could disappear. Now, even if I do lose them, I’ll have the knowledge of them, even if I don’t have the memory.

 

It’s not much, though. The two major things that remain clear to me are Derek and an overwhelming sense of humanity. Complete mortality. Everything else is rapidly slipping through my fingers, working backwards through the years.

 

Every morning, I’ve woken up aching. It’s as if something is being taken from my body every night. Like a hole is forming in my very being and not just my memories. I decide to suffer in silence for a time, though, because it would only concern the people around me.

 

Until today. Today everything hurts too much. It feels like I’m on fire and my head is throbbing. My heart is pounding against my chest and my joints feel like acid is melting them away. In short; it’s hell.

 

So I do the only thing I can think of. I hop into my jeep and drive to Deaton’s. I can only hope that he has something. Anything. I’m not deluded enough to hope that he hasn’t been affected, because I know that he has. Everyone has. The spell even _brought Jackson back from London_. It’s more powerful than anything we’ve seen before. I hope. The more my memories escape me, the more appealing the idea of everything being a dream seems. But I can’t give up. Not if something really _is_ at work in Beacon Hills.

 

When I park the jeep, I lean forward and rest my head against the cool steering wheel. I feel like I’m slowly being compressed by a super-gravitational force. Like I’m being superheated before imploding. This is awful. I contain a groan as I scramble out of the car, slamming the door shut, and staggering toward the front door.

 

When I smash against the door it creaks open and the small bell jingles. I stumble into Deaton’s office and grip the door frame for support when the pain intensifies. I groan aloud and feel my knees wobble. I force myself forward and collapse onto the front counter, panting.

 

Deaton walks out from the back and regards me with apprehension. He must think I’m diseased. I’m not really doing myself any favors with the way I look, I suppose.  

 

“Can I help you, young man?” he asks. I groan again, lifting myself slightly to look up at him pleadingly. It’s pathetic and not at all becoming to me. But, at this point, I really don’t give a damn what’s becoming of me if it means survival.

 

“I-I don’t know what’s...ha-happening,” I say weakly. Deaton frowns and looks around before walked to the other side of the counter and throwing my arm over his shoulder. He pulls me into the back and lays be down on one of the cold, silver tables. The icy feeling is welcomed, though, as it dulls the hot ache slightly. As I glance around I realize that this is the same table I almost cut Derek’s arm off on. Awkward.

 

Deaton walks back to the front of the office and I tap my fingers rapidly against my thigh. Despite the constant pain, I can’t quench the restlessness that seems to always consume me. I can’t shake the jitters. I can’t stop the ADHD that seems to have only gotten worse the longer I stay here with my memories slipping away. No matter how much Adderall I force myself to take, the need to move around, to fidget, the inability to finish things just won’t leave me.

 

Deaton walks back toward me and I raise an eyebrow in question. He smiles coyly.

 

“I was putting up the closed sign. It would be an interesting situation if one of my usual patients were to interrupt us,” he says. Good to know he’s still the wise old brick wall of emotionlessness he was before. I’m _so_ glad the spell doesn’t change your personality even if it changes your memories.

 

Another wave of pain rockets through me like a stampede and I’m left swallowing screams and writhing off of the steel surface of the table. My back arches and I squeeze my eyes shut. Deaton nods at me, clicking his tongue and circling me. He’s surveying me. Deciding his next move methodically. Some things I truly _am_ happy to see haven’t changed.

 

“Any theories, Doc?” I ask through gritted teeth. I lay back down on the table and welcome the cool tabletop with a sigh of slight relief. He gives a short nod and moves to one of the medicine cabinet above the sink. He pulls out a book and quickly flips through it. He really is an efficient man to say the least.

 

When he sets the book back down he moves to the cabinet again, pulling out two red bags, assorted herbs and other goodies as well as a bottle that looks suspiciously like perfume and another that looks like some kind of oil.

 

Once he sets his supplies out and orders them methodically, he makes quick work of dropping a little of this, a pinch of that and one or two of those into the bags. The first bag he prepares is astonishingly simple. He drops two stones in and then two nails. He sprinkles in a small pinch of salt and then seals the bag.

 

The second one is the complicated one. He reads over the books thrice before he dives back into the supplies. A chain. A broken ring. A pinch of dried grass, maybe? A bone of some sort. A multicolored shell. A tiny metal skull. A mini dagger. He seals the bag and pours a small amount of the oil onto it. He sets it aside, next to the first bag. He turns to me.

 

“Mr. Stilinski, I believe that there is a great evil circling you. Attempting to trap your magic energy within your body to eliminate you as some form of threat, I would guess,” he says. Wait, what?

 

“Magic energy?” I ask, grimacing when another pang of heat spills over me. I can feel myself sweating, body trying to reduce the fever somehow. Deaton nods.

 

“You have an amazingly high level of magic power at your core, Stiles. Power the supercedes that of even a high-level shaman,” he says. Magic. He’s talking magic. Like. The kind of magic that could lead to werewolves. Please let him mean magic that leads to werewolves. _Wow, never thought I’d say that. Or...think that…_

 

“Magic?” I ask skeptically. Deaton gives me another coy smile as he goes back to his cabinet, pulling out a pestle and mortar. He grabs a solid black vile and pours a small portion of the contents into the mortar. He adds water and begins to crush the mixture with the pestle.

 

“As if you hadn’t already come to the same conclusion, Mr. Stilinski. Although, I am curious to know who informed you of my active practice of Hoodoo,” he says.

 

“Word on the street,” I huff out. He chuckles. “What kind of evil is this thing you’re talking about, anyway? Like. Supernatural creatures?” I ask hopefully. He gives me a raised eyebrow.

 

“If you’re referring to creatures like vampires and werewolves, then you’ve been reading far too many teen fiction novels, I’m afraid. Mythological creatures do not exist. Evil spirits, demons, dark energy, those sorts of things should be your concern here.” Well scratch that idea. The spell still got to him and there’s nothing really supernatural here. Aside from evil. But what’s a world without evil?

 

“Like biblical superstition?” I ask. He smiles. It’s guarded, but more open than before.

 

“In a way. You have great shamanistic potential, Mr. Stilinski,” he says. Well. I guess that’s a start. He brings the mortar to my lips, then, forcing me to swallow the bitter blue paste. Ew. After I finish, I lay my head back down on the cool table and glance around.

 

A cool feeling washes over me, dulling the ache some. I give a grateful smile in Deaton’s direction. He stares at me for a moment. An uncharacteristically long moment.

 

“Would you teach me?” I ask. This could be useful. He may not be an emissary and he may not be as powerful, but he will definitely be an asset. He looks back at the red bags he’d prepared earlier and then back at me. His lips are pursed and he crossed his arms over his chest as he leans back against the counter.

 

“Are you sure that’s the path you should be taking at this time, Stiles?” he asks.

 

“You said that there’s an evil trying to suck my magical essence out of me, right? Like I’m some tasty soda and it has a fun ol’ curly straw?” Deaton’s face scrunches in confusion. I may not have had _quite_ enough Adderall this morning, as luck may have it.

 

“I’m not sure if that’s the comparison I would have chosen, but essentially, yes.” I nod.

 

“Great. So, doesn’t that make me kind of a target? Shouldn’t I be able to defend myself in some way?” I ask. Deaton contemplates. My body cools slowly, the pain numbs slightly. It reminds me of the way the pack would leech pain from me when I would get injured. Finally Deaton nods.

 

“Fine. I’ll teach you,” he says. “But I do have a sort of warning for you, Mr. Stilinski, before you go,” he says. I nod as I slowly sit myself up.

 

“Go ahead, dude,” I say. He raises an eyebrow. I shrug.

 

“Have you ever heard the story of Hercules and the Waggoneer?” he asks. Ooh, story time. I shake my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “A waggoneer was driving a heavy load down a very muddy road. Finally, he came to a part of the way where the wagon’s wheels sunk down too deep. The more he pushed his horses onward, the deeper they sank. So the man lay down his whip and fell to the ground beside the wagon. He prayed to Hercules the Strong, saying ‘Oh Hercules, help me in my hour of distress.’ But Hercules appeared to him and said “Shame on you, mortal man, don’t sprawl there. Get up and put your shoulder to the wheel.’ The gods help them that help themselves, Stiles. Do you understand?”

 

“I can’t just rely on you to protect me, I have to do it myself?” I ask. He nods slightly.

 

“You must not simply rely on those who are stronger than you to do the work you wish to avoid and reshape yourself so that you might become that strong,” he says. I nod, sliding from the table and steadying myself against it when my legs wobble. “That’s not to say, of course, to rely only on yourself and your own disciplines. While self-sufficiency is essential to individual survival, it is not a mark of weakness to seek the help of others when one’s own power is not enough. To seek council in times of need marks a man much wiser than a man who wishes to achieve his life’s goals all alone.” I nod, grinning.

 

“It also marks a man with no friends,” I say. Deaton gives a small huff of perceived laughter for my efforts and I grin. The pain is dulled to a point I can ignore, thankfully. Deaton grabs the two bags and hands them to me.

 

“These are Mojo Bags. This one,” he raises the smaller, simpler one, “is for luck and protection against evil. This one,” he raises the complicated one, “is to drive away evil, in your case. Keep them in your pocket and you should be safe from the evil that haunts you for now.” I nod and smile again. Deaton looks at me once more before leading me to the front of the office. “Meet me again on Sunday and I’ll begin your Hoodoo lessons,” he says. I nod, turning to him as I’m about to cross the threshold the counter creates.

 

“I know you were expecting for me to come, Deaton,” I tell him. He raises an eyebrow.

 

“What brought you to that conclusion, Mr. Stilinski?”

 

“I never told you my name.” I leave the vet’s office as he smirks behind me. I hop back into my jeep and shove the little red bags into the pocket of my jeans.

 

This day has certainly been enlightening. At least there’s some sliver of hope for discovering the truth. Maybe I can finally find the truth. Dream or Reality? Hopefully I’ll figure it out soon.

 

 

.^.^.^.

 

 

After I get home, Erica calls me. She invites herself over and I don’t stop her. There’s no point in doing so, really. She’ll only come over anyway. So I hide anything that would raise too many questions in my room and wait for her to arrive. I take to pacing, trying to get rid of the excess jitters that still cling to me. I know that her mother is driving her because she still has active seizures. I decidedly don’t bring up her condition and, in return, she doesn’t talk about the coma. It’s easy.

 

She arrives after fifteen minutes and I welcome her inside, shepherding her up to my room so she can deposite her bag and coat. I don’t know how long she’s planning to stay, but her duffel suggests at least a night.

 

“Planning on moving in?” I ask. She sneers.

 

“As if, loser. I’d never want to live with you. I am, however, staying the night. Because I have no girl friends to do it with and you’re a close second,” she says. I roll my eyes.

 

“I’m a close second for a girl’s night?” I ask. She grins.

 

“Yeah. It’s _obvious_ you’re smitten with someone who isn’t me. Therefore, I count you an honorary gay friend.” I cross my arms and lean my shoulder on the doorframe. I shake my knee quickly as I look her over.

 

“Honorary gay friend? What makes you think I’m not the real deal?” I ask. She gives me a raised eyebrow.

 

“Dressed like that? You’re definitely not gay,” she says. Dad said that. In the dream. When Scott and I went to that gay bar in search of Alpha-Peter. Weird.

 

“Not all gay people have a heightened sense of fashion, you know,” I tell her wisely. She laughs.

 

“Maybe not, but any gay man would know that what you’re wearing is a definite no-no. Any _straight_ man should know that, actually. Your sense of style is kind of atrocious, Stiles,” she tells me. _Says the girl who thought that leather was good for any clothing garment. Sorry my fashion sense from the dream didn’t transfer into this reality, little Miss Fashionista._

 

“Let me just get right on that,” I spit. “But, you know, Erica, you don’t have to wear such baggy clothing all the time. You’re very pretty but you cover it up every day. I think you should try wearing a sundress or something,” I tell her. She looks up at me curiously. She blushes slightly before shaking her head.

 

“I’m definitely not taking fashion advice from you.” I roll my eyes.

 

“In the, uh, in the dream...I had a boyfriend, you know,” I say quietly, looking down. It’s the first time I’ve brought up anything concerning my coma since waking up. Erica looks up at me. She seems to store this information like a prized bone to be buried in the backyard later.

 

“Really? What did he look like?” she asks, patting the space beside her, gesturing for me to sit with her. I roll my eyes at this. This is ridiculous. Derek would probably make some snide comment about this. I pause and frown momentarily at the familiar ache in my chest. I miss him.

 

As stupid and ridiculous as it should be, I miss the old Sourwolf. He was something...constant. “Stiles?” Erica asks quietly. I look up, startled. I shake my head and smile to her as I sit beside her, turning to face her as she does the same.

 

Maybe it’s knowing that if this really is a spell, she’ll disappear when it’s broken that compels me to reveal this information to Erica. Maybe it’s because I’ve truly missed her spunk. Maybe I just need to talk to something more than a voicemail. I don’t know. “Alright, Stiles, tell me all about this boyfriend,” she says, like she’s just clamped her jaws around a nice, juicy steak.

 

“Alright, alright. Well, to answer your first question, he looked like your typically bad boy, broody-type. At first, I hated his guts. _Hated_ them. He was always kind of an asshole; to me especially. And we seemed to share this mutual mistrust for one another, right? Now that I look back on it, it was kind of the typical will they-won’t they set-up, like in TV shows,” I tell her. She’s just eating it up, leaning her elbows on her knees and placing her head in her awaiting hands.

 

“So anyway, a lot of stuff happened--weird stuff--and we got thrown together a lot. There was a time when I almost had to cut off his arm. And then the time when I had to hold him up in a swimming pool for two hours while he was paralyzed. Then there was the time when we were both paralyzed and I somehow landed right on top of him. And then he started asking me for help more often. He started including me more often.

 

“As the years passed we just sort of...happened. I don’t actually know when Derek and I became ‘Stiles and Derek,’ really. We just...did. We both kind of came to the realization together one night when we were doing research. It wasn’t really a big deal, you know? He was into dramatics; you know, heroics, dramatic entrances, the whole shebang. And I was more of the tech-support kind of guy. If they needed information or help with something they would come to me sometimes and I would get to work. That was just the way we were.

 

“I guess somewhere along the road I started actually feeling something for him and apparently he did the same for me. It wasn’t like magical first kisses where we both just _knew_ or whatever. It wasn’t like we said that we loved each other all the time or we held hands or anything. We just...were. I don’t think we _ever_ said the ‘L’ word, actually. We both just...kinda figured it out. Through our actions…” I trail off after that point. I said a lot, just there. Erica looks start-struck with a big, shit-eating grin on her lips.

 

“Stiles, I take it back. You’re totally gay,” she says. I give her a derisive look and cross my arms again.

 

“I take pride in being unashamedly pansexual, thank you very much,” I say. Erica laughs at that and reaches over to punch my shoulder.

 

“Idiot,” she jests. We chat for a while longer until we run out of things to talk about and lay back on the floor. We’re silent for long minutes, stuck in our own minds until Erica shifts slightly, asking, “how did you and Derek end up in all those ridiculous situations, anyway?” I admire the way she talks about the dream like it’s in her own memories as well. It’s comforting.

 

“My dream-world was much more exciting than the world we live in currently,” I say easily.

 

“More exciting, huh? Like how?”

 

“Well...for starters there were werewolves. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the way it went. Werewolves. It was awesome. There were demons and giant lizards and packs of Alpha werewolves and crazy, cannibalistic demi-gods. It was great. Exciting.” Erica just nods.

 

“Which reality do you prefer?” she asks softly. I frown.

 

“Honestly? I wish I could have a combination of both. Even though the dream was exciting and action-packed and I had Derek, we suffered so many losses. The number of bodies we had to bury...the number of friends we lost...it was astronomical. It still gives me nightmares. I don’t know which reality I prefer. I really wish I had a third option,” I answer.

 

“I feel like I would like the other reality better than this one. Maybe I could be a werewolf and I wouldn’t have to deal with epilepsy anymore. It would be so cool,” she says. I have to stop the tightening in my chest and the sting behind my eyes as she says this. I can’t think about her body right now.

  
“Yeah,” I choke out, thinly veiling it with a cough. “I bet you would have liked the other reality a lot too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! I hope this chapter comes up to par with the others. I'm trying to improve the story as I go...I hope you all enjoy it! Beware of the feels!

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya! Thanks for reading this little intro here! I hope you all like it and will want to read more! I'll be working on the next part and I'll hopefully have it up soon! ^.^ (It's not beta'd, but I don't think I made too many mistakes, please tell me if you spot any ^.^)


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